


Wicked Eyes

by espressorobotics



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Halamshiral, The Winter Palace (Dragon Age), This is terrible and yet? I have no shame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 11:15:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7615891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/espressorobotics/pseuds/espressorobotics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Hero of Ferelden was not invited to Halamshiral in the months following the Breach; yet she attends, with a slew of friends behind her, to ensure that Orlais does not descend into chaos when Thedas most needs its strength. Thrown into the fray with only a faint inkling of how Orlesian nobles play their game, Nydia Surana must navigate a social minefield without treading on a single toe as well as solve the mysteries lying behind and sitting upon the throne - staying a step ahead of the Inquisitor herself all the while.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wicked Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly have no clue what I'm doing. I just really wanted my Warden to be at Halamshiral, okay?  
> This is sort of a tester - if people find this interesting enough, I'll probably continue it, with longer segments, since this chapter is short as hell. It hasn't received much editing, so criticism is welcome, as always.

Nydia Surana was quickly learning that court intrigue was not nearly as pleasant in reality as it was in fiction.

The painted mask could not hide her ears, nor shield them from the derisive whispers that followed her like a plague. While she had been prepared for rudeness, the elven Warden could not say that she had been prepared for the incessant looks of surprise when she informed people who she was, or the faint but visible disdain in their eyes, or the incredible urge to lash out at the other guests with words or fists. Never before had her patience been tested so many times; these Orlesians were almost as abrasive as the material of her dress.

The dress. Nydia glanced down at herself and sighed.

Zevran had taken care of the tailoring; all that she had asked was that she be able to move, and he had come through for the most part. It was light material, silk and cotton, breathable enough for Nydia to tolerate. The cloth was black in color, with embroidery in dark grey and sheer silver material over her shoulders. Not quite as puffed up and restraining as typical Orlesian fashions, it was more flowing, with thickly layered skirts alternating black and white just below a lightly cinched waist. Heavy as it was on the bottom, Nydia felt almost exposed on the top; the fabric tightened around her flat chest and wide shoulders, securing it to her body while leaving her muscular arms free, if naked. 

The mask completed the ridiculous ensemble, a black and silver thing with a beaky nose and ivory ribbons tying it securely to her face. Nydia had never felt more vulnerable and simultaneously covered up - the dress lacked the corset that was typically standard in Orlesian styles, so at least she was not forced to remain vertical, but maneuvering anything larger than the glass of wine she had been nursing the past hour was going to prove difficult.

Alert as ever, she scanned the room as best she could through the shaded eyeholes of her mask, not quite knowing what to expect. Part of her had hoped that the Inquisitor would be instantly recognizable, but the crowds were a confusing muddle of colors and movement as the guests of Halamshiral flooded into the now open ballroom, ready to begin a second round of unnecessarily title-laden introductions and paltry conversations. She lifted her skirts, balling up the fabric in her fists, and strode from the doorway to the raised edge of the dance floor itself, keeping a sharp eye on the incoming stream of lords and ladies, searching for an elf with a piece of the Fade on her hand.

Finally, a noticeably different group entered the ballroom. Militaristic uniforms of red and gold made the party of eight stand out - though the people themselves would have made an entrance even without, Nydia was sure.

At the head of the group was a pretty, plump woman with a hooked nose; although mostly unremarkable, she had a certain grace and ease to her movements that marked her as experienced in this particular environment. Following her was a face Nydia was overjoyed to see, though not at all surprised - Leliana was instantly recognizable by that bright red hair, and the Warden was rather disappointed when their eyes failed to meet.

The procession of red and gold continued, each new guest more ostentatious than the last. A man, obviously Tevinter, with a grand moustache and a proud face; a broad-shouldered woman with short black hair braided into a crown; a towering Qunari with massive horns and a missing eye; a dwarf with an uneasy grin and equally uncomfortable eyes; and finally, the one Nydia had been searching for. A short, Dalish elf, brown waves cut short to leave her tapering ears exposed, and a left hand that glowed an eerie green even through her thick glove.

The Inquisitor - and her party, it seemed - had arrived.


End file.
